“Corn Bread: Ain't Nothing Wrong with That”

Do you remember that commencement speech by Kurt Vonnegut that had a lot of pithy observations designed to help young graduates live a life worth living? You know the one I'm talking about— the one he never gave. Yeah, that one.

Anyway, there's a final lecture by a professor with a terminal illness on YouTube that's making the rounds with pretty much the same goal: to provide the living with life lessons they can use now, while there's still have time.

Don't worry. I'm not going to do that. For one, I wouldn't presume. For another, you're probably smart enough to know not to take life lessons from me. In fact, if you can read that last sentence, you're smart enough to know not to take life lessons from me. So I won't try.

But with resolution season just around the corner, I wanted to give you something to get you off to a good start on making you a better you. Since you won't listen to me (good call, my friend), I had to find someone you might listen to.

Happy New Year's!

It's that and the Fact That Tequila Fucked Me Up. If I Had a Dollar…

95%ALCOHOLIC

Looking for payday loans?

The only surprising thing about this is that I didn't get a perfect score.

Damn, Coal Again

To everyone celebrating the holiday, I wish you peace and renewed faith from the remembrance that Christ is born. And I hope you find strength in the knowledge that He lives and works through you everyday. (Or whatever the holiday is about. It's been awhile since I've been to Sunday School and I missed the Peanuts Christmas special this year.)

For the rest of you, I hope there's great food and wine and soft fleshy pleasures aplenty where you are, and I hope that you will take a moment from your agnostic and atheistic self-righteousness long enough to remember that if it weren't for the faith and political pull of our Christian brothers and sisters, you wouldn't have nearly the number of days off that you do; and that without their cultural dominance and influence, Christmas season would be just another Monday-off holiday, like Flag Day.

And we all know how much Flag Day sucks.

So try to remember that this holiday season.

Finally, to my Jewish friends, I can only say this: Whatever slight you feel your holiday gets this time of year, you can rest peacefully and smugly in the certain knowledge that things could be worse. You could be celebrating Kwanzaa. That you aren't is at least one sign that you are the god of Abraham's chosen people and that he loves you very, very much. (Or, at least, more than he does black people.)

The point is, whatever you celebrate, happy holidays! Peace and blessings to you and yours.

Reasonable People Disagree with Me on This. They, of Course, Are Wrong

Nearly a year ago, New York made plans to ban the use of electric shocks as a punishment for bad behavior, a therapy used at a Massachusetts school where New York State had long sent some of its most challenging special education students.

But state officials trying to limit New York's association with the school, the Judge Rotenberg Educational Center in Canton, southwest of Boston, and its “aversive therapy” practices have found a large obstacle in their paths: parents of students who are given shocks.

“I understand people who don't know about it think it is cruel,” said Susan Handon of Jamaica, Queens, whose 20-year-old daughter, Crystal, has been at Rotenberg for four years. “But she is not permanently scarred and she has really learned that certain behaviors, like running up and hitting people in the face, are not acceptable.”


I know what you're thinking. I've thought it, too: “If everyone learned that lesson—‘that certain behaviors, like running up and hitting people in the face, are not acceptable’—where would we get the people to staff our police forces?” I don't know. I won't pretend to have all the answers.

But I know this: Not every sociopath is cut out for law enforcement. For those few, those non-driving few, we have to have options.

And running around and hitting people in the face is inappropriate for most toll booth operators.

And Then the Lord Say-th, “Bring Out the Gimp!” And the Gimp Was Brought-eth Out – Biff 3:17

An Alabama minister who died in June of “accidental mechanical asphyxia” was found hogtied and wearing two complete wet suits, including a face mask, diving gloves and slippers, rubberized underwear, and a head mask, according to an autopsy report. Investigators determined that Rev. Gary Aldridge's death was not caused by foul play and that the 51-year-old pastor of Montgomery's Thorington Road Baptist Church was alone in his home at the time he died (while apparently in the midst of some autoerotic undertaking). While the Montgomery Advertiser, which first obtained the autopsy records, reported on Aldridge's two wet suits, the family newspaper chose not to mention what police discovered inside the minister's rubber briefs. Aldridge served as the church's pastor for 16 years. Immediately following his death, church officials issued a press release asking community members to “please refrain from speculation” about what led to Aldridge's demise, adding that, “we will begin the healing process under the strong arm of our Savior, Jesus Christ.”

According to the autopsy report, this is what the police discovered:

“The decedent is clothed in a diving wet suit, a face mask which has a single vent for breathing, a rubberized head mask having an opening for the mouth and eyes, a second rubberized suit with suspenders, rubberized male underwear, hands and feet have diving gloves and slippers. There are numerous straps and cords restraining the decedent. There is a leather belt about the midriff. There is a series of ligatures extending from the hands and feet. The hands are bound behind the back. The feet are tied to the hands. There are nylon ligatures holding these in place with leather straps about the wrists and ankles. There are plastic cords also tied about the hands and feet with a single plastic cord extending up to the head and surrounding the lower neck. There is a dildo in the anus covered with a condom. …

“Chest: The chest is unremarkable.
Abdomen: The abdomen is unremarkable.
External Genitalia: The genitalia are normal adult male external genitalia. …
Back and Anus: The back and anus are unremarkable.”

I don't know what's worse, dying in the act of autoerotic asphyxiation or having the coroner write in your autopsy, “The back and anus are unremarkable.” I'm thinking a person involved in this sort of activity should be prepared for an eventuality like this—working out, grooming his ass mane, etc.—so that if he's ever found dead with a dildo (what's with the condom?) in his ass, his ass would be so magnificent the dildo would be the last thing anyone noticed. And by comparison, it would be deemed “unremarkable.” Admittedly, I might be projecting, here.

That said, I feel I'm in the majority in one regard. When I ask myself what would Jebus do? I come up with “Leave that dildo where it is.” And I don't think I'm alone. I feel a part of the multitude.

Can I get an “Amen?”

Cookies and Milk? So Passé and Culturally Incorrect. What Santa Wants Is Condoms and Lube. So Be Nice.

“It's not that I didn't believe in Santa Claus. It's just that you've shattered my image somehow….”

In Burlington, North Carolina in 1990, a group of decent, Christian, hard-working folks who called themselves the Truth Tabernacle Church held a trial featuring the well-known elf Santa Claus as defendant.

They charged Mr. Claus, represented in court by a stuffed dummy, with all sorts of high crimes and misdemeanors. They charged him with paganism. They charged him with perjury for claiming to be Saint Nicholas. They even charged him with encouraging child abuse by appearing in whiskey ads. Worse yet, they found him guilty on all counts, for basically being a jolly old elf—i.e., a pagan god trying to steal Christmas from Christ. …

I sort of think the fundies have it right for once. Santa not only has an unsavory pagan ancestry but a rather criminal family history all around. Let me Illuminize you …

As it turns out, Satyr Claus is the reason for the season.

Dale Dobson's “MTV Books Presents: Romeo & Juliet”

Romeo Montague was the kind of boy other boys liked. And girls, too. Because he was smoking hot, with a bad-boy streetwise sense of justice and smoldering brown eyes under his dark knitted brows, like long, furry caterpillars made out of yarn. …

“You know what you need, Montague?”

Romeo's hot friend Mercutio asked him this question as they tooled through the streets of Verona in his fast Maserati and Bulgari shades, going really fast. Then he answered his own question, rhetorically.

“You need a little rough love, dude.”

They arrived at a major blowout party with hot valet parking, where Juliet Capulet was holding court over a room full of fawning admirers who were hot but not nearly as hot. They wanted her heat because she was extremely hot, like a Queen, and she had new fake tits. …

“Shit, bro!” shouted Romeo. “Juliet Capulet is smoking hot!” …

After the party, Juliet was super-ready for some hot action but Romeo had to leave because Montagues aren't supposed to date Capulets, …. She called for some local minstrels to play beneath her window because she liked the lead singer's style. It made her feel dreamy and woozy as she listened to the hit tunes and stared out the window into the dark, night-like after-dark nighttime.

The next morning, Romeo's beautiful long eyelashes fluttered as he woke up naked. His ribs rippled underneath his firm, masculine chest like long, bony barbecue ribs, and his arousal was intense and thick and throbbing and long and bony too. Because Juliet was so hot. So that night he went to her house and climbed in the bedroom window and nailed her.

The next day, Juliet's nurse could see that she had terrible fashion sense for someone with so much money and new implants, plus she was really depressed because Romeo was so hot but still he was a Montague and that sucked.

The nurse said, “Bitch, please! Get off your ass and go see the Apothecary.”


No, 'tis not so deep as a Coolio video, nor so wide as a Escalade; but 'tis enough,'twill serve.

God, I love the Classics.

The Next Think You Know, They're Going to be Voting

After successfully gaining a majority in both the U.S. House and Senate in the 2006 midterm elections, the Democratic Party was mired in controversy when the newly elected speaker of the house, Rep. Pelosi (D-CA), was caught on camera wearing what appeared to be a skirt, ladies top, necklace, and pair of high heels.

Photographs and video showing the speaker traipsing around the House floor in the garish attire were leaked to C-SPAN moments after the 110th Congress took office on Jan. 3. Since that time, Pelosi's unconventional clothing choice has been universally decried by Washington insiders as “a tragic blot on the long and honorable history of U.S. speakers.” …

“What kind of a message does this send to our children?” Minneapolis mother of four Carol Hardwick asked. “That it's ‘okay’ for our top leaders to have long hair and paint their fingernails and speak in a high falsetto voice? This is America, for heaven's sake.” …

“It's disgusting,” said Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, who was wearing a three-piece suit and flats at the time.

I hear Skirted Americans are doing all sorts of shameful things nowadays. They drive and hold jobs, and some of them even smoke, for god's sake. Frankly, if this is progress, you can keep it.

And It's Only December

On a day when her campaign advisers had hoped the final debate before the Iowa caucuses would help Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton reestablish herself as the front-runner for the Democratic presidential nomination, Clinton offered a formal apology to Sen. Barack Obama and accepted the resignation of a prominent campaign organizer who had raised questions about her rival's use of drugs.

Bill Shaheen, Clinton's New Hampshire co-chair and the husband of former governor Jeanne Shaheen, said in a statement announcing his resignation that his remarks to The Washington Post on Wednesday were "in no way authorized" by the senator from New York or her campaign.

“I made a mistake,” Shaheen said, adding that it was a “personal decision” to step aside as co-chairman of Clinton's New Hampshire operation.

Obama advisers were reluctant to let the issue drop, asserting that Shaheen, a close friend of the Clintons, had deliberately put the drug issue into play in the primary in an effort to stem Obama's rise in early-voting states. …

Even after seeking to play down Shaheen's comments, Mark Penn, Clinton's chief strategist, used the word “cocaine” in a television appearance late Thursday. Obama officials seized on it as evidence that the Clinton team was intentionally trying to associate Obama with drug use. …

Asked if the issue of Obama's drug use should be an issue, Clinton said, “Not in my campaign.”

“There are a lot of differences between us, and those are the contrasts that should be drawn,” said Clinton. “I'm running a campaign about who I am, what I've done and that's what I'm going to stay focused on.”

She also rejected recent comments from her campaign about Obama saying he hadn't sought the presidency for long—after writing and talking about such an ambition throughout his life.

“That was silly, and I told my campaign it was silly,” Clinton said. “My whole point has been there are legitimate differences.”

While Clinton has built a lead in national polling on the Democratic candidates, she is in a tight race with Obama and former Sen. John Edwards in Iowa.

“I always thought this would get close,” said Clinton, who noted she doesn't have the advantage of coming from a neighboring state like Obama or a long history in the state like Edwards.

Um, didn't you grow up in Illinois, the same neighboring state as Obama? I could be wrong. All I know is what I read on your website.

And there's what I've learned over the past 7 years of the Bush administration, which is why this ploy looks so familiar. It's the Scooter Gambit. The Scooter Gambit is where you have a person associated with your campaign or administration do something distasteful —that you want done, but can't do—and then cut them loose when you're called on the carpet for it, pretending that you are shocked—SHOCKED—to find such things going on.

As I recall, you pulled a Scooter earlier in the year, after a poor performance in the Democratic debates, after which you appeared to say the other candidates picked on you because you were the only woman in the debate. You later claimed never to have said that. Of course, not. She had your husband Scooter it. When pressed later on your comments, you were free to say the other candidates only attacked you because you were the leader in the race—to everyone but the people on her fund-raising e-mail lists. Well played, madame. Well played. (And you didn't even have to cut Bill loose.)

It was almost as masterful as your Bush-esque planting of questions at town hall meetings.

And, of course, that “I didn't have the advantage of coming from a neighboring state” is an old Clinton trick—an old Bill Clinton trick, that is. He said, “It depends on what your definition of ‘is’ is.” You're going with it depends on what your definition of “coming from” is. Brilliant.

Is it too early to start referring to you as “Slick Hillie?”

And Then, with Blanklet Pulled Up to My Chin, I Whisper to Bruce Willis, “I See Spread Vulva” But He's Not Really There, Not Really.

Growing up, Nancy Redd had a poor relationship with that part of her body that rhymes with Mulva, as Seinfeld famously noted. “I grew up in southern Virginia, where you're lucky if it's referred to as a hoo-ha," said Redd, 26. Then she majored in women's studies at Harvard, won Miss Virginia 2003 and placed in the top ten at Miss America 2004. With a postfeminist résumé like that, it was probably inevitable that she would write Body Drama, a version of Our Bodies, Ourselves for the self-image-addled teen girls and young women of Generation Z, coming out December 27. Covering everything from woes about lopsided boobs and personal smells to serious health issues, it's full of un-retouched photos of buck-naked everyday women, all New Yorkers whom Redd found over Craigslist—including a centerfold of 24 vulvas that gives new meaning to the term “full spread.” Redd recounted that shoot to Tim Murphy. …

So what did the Craigslist ad say?
It said, “Come show your vagina for a good cause.” We ended up shooting about 50. We wanted a variety of colors and shapes, hair and without hair. We concocted this table in a photo studio like you'd have at the gyno—a clean, sterile table with disposable paper. I paid $50 a vulva. …

How do women relate to their vulvas?
You'd be surprised about the shame they feel. They say it's too dark, it's too deep, it's too hairy, it's not feminine—which is the most ironic. How can your vulva not be feminine? …

Do you wax?
I was totally into it, but in doing my research and realizing what it takes for a place to be sanitary, I went on a panic attack. So right now I'm au naturel. But I don't see the point of just removing some from the sides. For me it's a Brazilian or nothing.

Do you think the shoot would've gone differently if you'd done it in L.A.?
Absolutely. They're way more manicured. People are more real in New York. I had Indian, Hispanic, Asian, white, and black women who were all so full of spirit. New York is a city of dreams.


Yes, dark, deep, hairy, feminine (in an ironic sort of way)—and quite possibly wet— dreams. Start spreading the news.

What's French for “Code Monkey”

Code Monkey get up, get coffee.
Code Monkey go to job.
Code Monkey have boring meeting.
Boring manager Rob.

Rob say Code Monkey very diligent,
But his output stink.
His code not functional or elegant.
What does Code Monkey think?

Code Monkey think maybe manager want to write goddamn log-in page himself.

Code Monkey not saying out loud
Code Monkey not crazy—just proud.

Code Monkey like Fritos.
Code Monkey like Tabb and Mountain Dew
Code Monkey very simple man,
Big, warm, fuzzy, secret heart.
Code Monkey like you.


This has kept everyone in my office amused for days now—great song, nice pantomime.

I think I'm in love.

Still No Word on the Catherine Deneuve Bubble Bath

Libyan leader Muammar el-Qaddafi, who's currently visiting France, has erected a heated, Bedouin-style tent in which to receive visitors due to his claustrophobia. And it's not just government officials he seeks to meet. On his way to France he said: “I want my tent to be erected near Elysee Palace. I want to meet 200 attractive French women there.”

I feel you, Muammar. I feel you—but on a much smaller scale, obviously. All I want is a Biff Sandwich on Isabelle Adjani-and-Sophie Marceau bread, and like you, I don't care whom I have to oppress to get it.

My threats, though, produced nothing. If I don't hear back from them soon, I'm going to start to believe that the French reputation for surrender in the face brute force is vastly overrated.

I Don't Know, but Plan A Involves Tractors and Lots of Stripper Poles

How do you get the boys back on the farm once they've ridden the subway in the city?

This Is the Sort of Relationship that Ends with “Bad Boys, Bad Boys, What You Going to Do? … ” In Other Words, Not Well

Why you gotta' do me like that?
When I call you don't call me back.
I'm texting you, wondering where you at.
That's fucked up. Why you do me like that?

I'm here sleeping, you tricking
In the club with dirty bitches.
My girl was there and she witness.
She had a camera phone. She took pictures.

You was on the dance floor, grinding
With a stripper ho' named Diamond.
You were thrusting hard. You were shining.
Everything she drank, you buying.

But n—r, you need to stop lying
Before I get mad and pull out my knife.
You want a new bitch to fuck, that's fine.
But don't fuck hers and try to fuck mine.

You keep telling me you ain't touch her,
But something keep telling me you done fucked her.
But I ain't no bitch you want to play with.
N—r, drop them boxers. Let me smell yo' dick.


Well, okay, but I have to tell you, this level of distrust is killing our relationship.

That's Right: “Pox = Syphilis” Knowing That Is Helping Save the Children

Can't blog now. I've got a world to feed.

And Why Is He Wearing My Prom Tux?

Okay, who died and made Snoop Dogg Rick James? Oh, right. Never mind.

Forget I said anything.

“Willie Rushed to Daisy, and with Hungry, Probing Tongue…”

In Washington, we start them early, so that by the time they hit puberty, it just feels right.

Five Minutes Later, the EMTs Returned to That Very Same Residence to Remove the Bell from the Husband's Ass

Wife: Love, I'm definitely under the weather. How are you feeling?

Husband:: How do you think I feel? I've got your stupid cold, haven't I? Thanks a lot.

Wife: Poor darling, you should have said something. I would have come down and made you some soup.

Husband: I called for you. I said, “ Laura! Laura!” But you didn't come, so I dialed 9-9-9.

[Sound of sirens in the background]

Laura: What?

EMT1: Where is he? Quickly, love.

Laura: In…

EMT1: Okay, son, everything's going to be fine.

Husband: I'm going to die.

EMT1: Not if we can help it.

Husband: My head's so…burning.

EMT2: How did this happen?

Laura: Oh. He caught a cold off me.

EMT2: You just don't think, do you?

Laura: I-I-I'm a bit confused. Hasn't he just got a cold?

EMT2: For god's sake woman, he's a man. He's got a man cold.


Well, duh.

A woman like that, how did she ever get a license for marriage? She clearly knows nothing about being a wife.

I weep for the state of marriage. I really do.

Albert, That's Unusual for Anywhere

Police arrested a man Monday afternoon who they found sitting in his car by the side of the road with his pants down on the bitterly cold and stormy day, according to Police Chief Sam Albert.

“He was pulled over at the side of the road with his pants down around his ankles and smoking crack,” Albert said.

Michael P. O'Rourke, 55, of 268 Central St., in Gardner, is charged with indecent exposure and possession of a Class B drug, Albert said.

Albert said the case is unusual for Westminster. …

Police got a call Monday afternoon from a driver who passed O'Rourke's car and saw he was not wearing pants.

Police went to Town Farm Road and found O'Rourke sitting in his parked car, Albert said. O'Rourke told police he has a substance-abuse problem, Albert said. …

There was a smoldering crack pipe in the car and eight more unopened baggies each with a crack rock on the car seat, according to Albert.

O'Rourke declined to explain to police why he had his pants pulled down other than to say that he definitely wasn't on his way to a neighborhood where a person with some extra crack could trade a few baggies for blow jobs, Albert said.

“He didn't want to talk about it,” he said. “But he definitely wanted to rule that possibility out for some reason.”

I Think I See What He Saw in Her

NOBODY can distract Bill Clinton from a hot tamale like Penelope Cruz—not even intimidating Vogue editrix Anna Wintour. Last Thursday, Clinton was seated next to Wintour and Queen Sofia of Spain at the Spanish Institute Gold Medal Gala on Park Avenue. According to David Patrick Columbia's socialdiary.com, “Mr. Clinton was seated next to the Queen of Spain, on her right, and Mr. Oscar de la Renta was on her left. To the left of Mr. de la Renta was Ms. Cruz, and to the right of Mr. Clinton was Anna Wintour…. The real highlight of the evening was watching the former president eventually forsake the editor of Vogue as a dinner partner and switch his seat with Mr. de la R so that he could be seated next to the movie star. After being presented with a medallion from Queen Sofia, Clinton told the audience, “I was trying to figure out exactly why I would receive this award tonight. It may be because, even though I'm not of Spanish descent, I've seen every one of Penelope Cruz's movies—and I liked them all.”

He then went on to point out that there were certainly some fine ladies in the house and that he hoped to get a chance to buy each and every one of them a drink later.

Although his charms were lost on Ms. Cruz, paparazzi caught Queen Sofia doing the Walk of Shame outside the former president's Harlem apartment, glowing, albeit a little worse for wear.

Asked for comment, Queen Sofia said, “What happens in Harlem stays in Harlem.”

Less coy was the former Horn Dog-in-Chief, who said, “I always go for the hotties, but for some reason, I always go home with their friends. That's fine by me 'cause it's all good, you know what I'm saying. Ah, yeah.” which prompted many observers to wonder if the former president has been uptown a little too long.

“So, You're a Feminist. Isn't That Cute?”

After decades spent battling gender discrimination and inequality in the workplace, the feminist movement underwent a high-level shake-up last month, when 53-year-old management consultant Peter “Buck” McGowan took over as new chief of the worldwide initiative for women's rights. …

“All the feminist movement needed to do was bring on someone who had the balls to do something about this glass ceiling business,” said McGowan, who quickly closed the 23.5 percent gender wage gap by “making a few calls to the big boys upstairs.” “In the world of gender identity and empowered female sexuality, it's all about who you know.”

McGowan, who was selected from a pool of roughly 150 million candidates, made eliminating sexual harassment his first priority before working on securing reproductive rights for women in all 50 states, and promoting healthy body images through an influx of strong, independent female characters in TV, magazines, and film. …

McGowan claimed that one of the main reasons the movement enjoyed so little success in the past was that the previous management was often too timid and passive and should have been much more results-focused.

“You can't waste time pussyfooting around with protests and getting all emotional about a bunch of irrelevant details,” McGowan said. “If you want to enjoy equal rights, you have to have a real man-to-man chat with the people in charge until you can hammer out some more equitable custody laws.”

“And don't get me started on how disorganized and scatterbrained their old fundraising methods were,” McGowan added. “Let's just say the movement never really had a head for numbers.”


Hahahaha. It's funny because it's true.

Moving to a New Home and Experiencing All the Wonders that Provides. I Will Return to Regular Blogging Soon

Apparently, there's a right way and a wrong way to enjoy coitus with your IKEA Sex Console. The right way, if the naughty grin on Cartoon Sven's face is to be believed, provides you with endless amounts of pleasure. The wrong way provides you with endless appointments with vascular surgeons, urologists, and emergent care professionals.

I am not a happy Sven.

By the way, I've never bragged about my carpentry skills on this blog. Let me remedy that error in humility by saying if we were trapped on a deserted island or crashed in the Andes and we were dependent upon only my carpentry skills for lifesaving shelter, we would all die of exposure long before we had to resort to cannibalism to survive.

Make your travel plans accordingly.